The NeverEnding War
by UbEr-d00d
Summary: It's been a year or two since Illidan Stormrage lost to Prince Arthas. However, the other races still put up a fight to defend their name. The Humans, the Night elves and even Orcs struggle to survive the Scourge's continuous onslaught.


_**Chapter 1**_

The sun had just cracked over the many trees of the last human settlement. The peasants were already outside bustling to get in the much needed gold and crops to support the village. Others were in the plains that were created to support live stock that were constantly herded to be slaughtered for food. Jaina stood at the top of her newly built castle and stared off into the distance, unable to sleep with so much on her mind. She was still in disbelief about everything, her mind stressing over each segment of events to what lead to this point, the last human settlement.

It all started with her being assigned to Arthas's regiment.Reports were that regions were oddly being under attack of dead creatures. Her beliefs were that they weren't true…at first, until she saw first hand with the prince how gruesome creatures with the claws the size of daggers tear open wounds into the flesh of her comrades. If that wasn't bad enough, she also witnessed how Arthas slaughtered hundreds-if not thousands-helpless innocents for the _light_. She could see the young prince going insane. He was only looking for vengeance, not for the lives of the alliance. She regretfully left him to wander alone, where he disappeared without a trace.

That's when she met _him. _She met a prophet that told her that the paladin prince was a lost cause, and the human race now rested in her hands. The cloaked one told her to sail her people to the east, where the mysterious lands of Kalimdor laid. She sensed some truth within the man and took his words of wisdom. But not before seeing what damage has been done.

Her ex-lover had turned to the undead ranks. He came back, carrying a huge broadsword, and slew his own father. Once a mighty paladin, he came back to haunt Lorderon and announced the kingdom's downfall.

She sailed across (with a band of humans) to the east to the lost lands of Kalimdor. To her horror, the green-skinned Horde had also come with the leadership of Thrall and Grom Hellscream. However, she ran to the lost caves where the so-called Oracle lies, which was really the _prophet_. Upon meeting the leader of the Horde, Thrall, an epic battle that has repeated itself for so many years was about to take place until the prophet shown his face again. He revealed that he was really the powerful/lost mage Medivh, who came back to redeem himself for all his sins. He told the female leader and the noble orc that the only way to defeat the shadow that was coming to engulf them all was to ally. Only then will the two races have a chance to fight the undead army. The two shook hands, and going back down to the wastelands, they allied and started a production with each other.

However, the Horde celebrated a victory, yet suffered a lost. For Thrall's best friend, the honorable, yet blood-thirty Grom Hellscream was slain after sacrificing himself to defeat Archimonde's Secondhand (hench)man, Mannoroth. However, this turned the battle towards the Allies' favor.

After helping the mysterious Night Elves to stop the ascension of Archimonde, Jaina took the last of her human race to a new place and started this now new settlement. Although the population and spirit was low, everyone did their part.

The wind picked up, and her long blonde hair blew in the wind along with her white sleeping gown. The strands of hair glimmered in the sunlight, a beauty she was. She hadn't had the time to find a mate, nor a relationship, due to her infatuation with magic instead. At first, her mind had believed that magic would be her only love. But now, with the loss of her first love Arthas, she had a feeling of emptiness inside her heart. Her throat clenched whenever she thought about the prince. But now he was a shadow of his former self.

Once a handsome man, he succumbed into a pale warrior. His soul lost, it caused his hair to turn gray and his body to grow skinner. But that didn't chew down his strength. He was stronger then he ever was, even before when he was using the light as his guide.

"It has to be that blade," she muttered to herself. Suddenly, the sound of horns blaring destroyed her train of thought. She leaned over the balcony and spotted the chief of the remaining Paladins, Tetrus LightBringer, pacing back and forth. She had started a new band of the followers of the light to revive the paladin's ways. Without their aid, her settlement was doomed to failure.

23 year old Feral Windwalker awoken to the music of reveille, his eyes popping open like a cork on a bottle of ale. He literally jumped out of bed, like the rest of the trainees, and began to throw his tunic on over his slim body. He wasn't muscular like the rest of his brethren, nor was he fully human. He was a half-elf, his father bearing the elven blood in his family. At first glance, Feral did appear human despite his height.

Feral was a good-looking young man, clean shaved with his brown hair reaching down to the end of his shoulder blades. For the training, however, he had to tie it up into a ponytail so it wouldn't get in the way of his sparring battles. His almond colored eyes were a gentle, matching well with his thick hair.

He was lean, which gave him a good edge in his battles because he was swifter in combat then those of his allies. Even the chief of the order, Tetrus, couldn't match with his astonishing agility. This was very strange for becoming a paladin, for if you bore the name of the light you also had to learn to fight with a 25 pound basic war hammer. Due to his lack of strength, Feral learned how to use two blades at once. But although too weak to hold a powerful war hammer, Feral held his own build, which bore his human side. Feral's father taught everything his son needed to know about combat, who was also a noble knight in the high ranks of the leader Jaina Proudmoore.

Another oddity about him was his elven side. Usually a short, but strong dwarf, or a versatile human would take on the quest for being a paladin. Feral, however, bore some elven blood in his veins. This gave him rude gestures and even some queer nicknames and taunts, but this never stopped Windwalker from going downt he path of the light. He simply ignored his pupils, and taught them a thing or two in sparring.

Feral was honorable. He believed firmly in the light, and he was a good-hearted man. Not at all like his fiery-tempered mother. He was a happy gentleman who gave the proper respect to authority and even to the women, who found him quite intriguing. As noble as he was, Feral couldn't yet resist the womens' lure, and sometimes found himself late to training because of the night before.

The slender half-elf slipped on his combat boots and gracefully put his hair up into a pony-tail with a piece of wool. He looked up and was shocked to see he was the last one in the room. He dashed outside as quickly as his legs could take him. His keen ears heard the gruff bark of Tetrus Lightbringer, telling his pupils to get in a line. He, too, was in that line. On the end, this counted for-

"Late again, eh?" the powerful man's face soon came into his vision. He tried not to get nervous, although the heat inside him was stacking already. Tetrus's beard and hair was long and rough, just like his personality. "A paladin is never to be late on an important issue! Do I make myself clear!" as he was explaining his thoughts, Tetrus turned around and continued down the line of his pupils. Feral let out a silent sigh of relief. The voices of his mates echoed throughout the air, distracting some busy villagers.

Feral stood silently in the uncomfortable position of "attention", the stance that made you pay attention to keep your mind off the pain in your feet and calves. "You have all gotten this far in your training," continued the Paladin, "And I see you last few as the possible new paladins in this group. There was once 33 of you in the start, but now before me only rest 9. But you all do know that the elimination process has not yet been completed! Only five people could become true light followers. And I am still yet wondering who it can be." Tetrus paced before Feral again, but turned around to continue down the line. "This is why the others and I have come up with a new test to see who can make it into the final round. It is called the 'survival' test. This will hone your skills in your magical abilities as well as your physical abilities to survive the wilderness. This is keen to a Paladin, who does a lot of traveling in order to keep the world in a peaceful slumber."

Feral suddenly shuddered, realizing what was going to happen. The lead Paladin further explained the training, explaining the equipment the trainee will carry and that the person will be able to take his pick in weapons and even a horse. But the next statement made his jaw hit the dusty dirt below his feet.

"You must travel to Kalimdor…" the trainees began to whisper among themselves in a state of shock, but was soon silenced by the thundering roar of their teacher. "SILENCE! As you all know, it will be a difficult journey that should take you a little more then four days there and back if you travel constantly. You will have a week to complete the training, and if you don't come back then you will be counted as dead and you will fail if you do happen to return."

One of the students raised his hand in a soldier fashion. The Paladin called upon him, and he spoke. "What about those bloody elves, milord, won't they pose as a problem?"

Although a serious question, the paladin bellowed a hardy laugh deep within his stomach. "Only a fool will believe those words, Marcus! There is elves lurking in the forests of Kalimdor, but you need not fear them! They are our allies, and they will not bring you any harm." Marcus's face turned from fear to satisfaction as he lowered his arm.

"But this doesn't mean it will be easy!" the paladin scruffily explained. "Many forces of evil will block your path and darken it from the light! You must learn the proper spells to use against trolls, wolves, dragons, and even demonic creatures that still run amuck from the Burning Legion's scar on this world…" Tetrus trailed off, looking down at his own arm to reveal a scar he received from a demon during the Ascension of the titan Archimonde. Many times has the paladin explained how Archimonde threatened the very existence of the world and how he helped defend it. He heard the many tales…

And he wasn't looking forward to another one.

He was impatient to getting out of this uncomfortable position. He was beginning to sweat from the strain put on his feet; the sun was beating down on his somewhat pale face. His eyes scanned over the Paladin to see him pacing back towards him. "And those of you who haven't yet mastered the powers of light--" he caught the paladin gazing towards him at this statement…

"--Will have a lot of problems."

The room was lit by a single candle. The beautiful female mage had sat herself down at a table, reading one of her newest books on alchemy and new spells. She was waiting for her master paladin to hear the normal results for the day. It couldn't have passed any slower for her. She was waiting to go to bed already. She didn't realize how tough being a queen for the new colony would be.

She knew how Arthas felt now…

The true reason why they didn't work out was their busy schedule. Yes, they did have an infatuation for each other. But the public had a bigger interest in the two then both of them had for each other combined. The rumors constantly spread about the prince and the mage at the time, and the time spent was too little. Their hearts were torn more then once from the little time that the two could have with each other. The two lovers had to break it off to spare them both.

_Besides, _Jaina thought to herself, _it wouldn't have worked out…and now he's nothing more then a heartless bastard…_

The words were true, but it struck her like a dagger in her heart.

She shook the thoughts off and dived back into her book. Something was keeping her lead paladin. He was normally never this late, and paladins were always timely. She had overheard Tetrus yelling that to his students early in the morning.

She impatiently pulled her hood down, her golden hair flowing down to her shoulders. Wizards such as her had no patience. Like the old past ages of wizards from the Kirin Tor(which she was one herself, from Dalaran), she had no patience. She was one of the last wizards alive, though.

Her eyes almost came to tear when she thought about how much blood was spilled by the undead scourge. The wizards were too brash, too stubborn. They didn't listen to a word she had to say. Not even King Terenas had listened to her words of leaving for the east. Most sought her as mad.

But she was the only one who was sane.

Those who fought valiantly to their death had died for nothing but a now plagued land. Their armor was torn and their flesh seared by burning claws of doom. Yet, they still dashed to their downfall, fighting for their beloved homeland.

Those were the ones who were mad. Their deaths had been in vain. Even the highest and mightiest wizards fallen to the scourge, their spells impervious to the large army. It was foolish-even folly- for the wizards of Dalaran to even attempt to fight off the undead. It only added more corpses to the collection of the scourge.

_Why couldn't they have just listened to me?_ Jaina thought, obviously not absorbing the information from the book she was reading. Her mind was else where.

Fortunately, she managed to gather a band of humans from her constant preaching. Most were the warriors that had sided with Arthas and saw him slaughter the innocents, that being enough truth that something wicked was coming. Others needed more persuasion, proof. She went even as far to use her magical crystal to show undead numbers overrunning nearby homelands, widening the eyes of many viewers.

Yet even when she showed the slaughter, others scoffed and said it was _trickery_

_Trickery!_

The words pounded in her head like a blacksmith's hammer. She continued to flip through her book, her crystal blue eyes skimming over the useless words. She threw the book across the room out of pure rage and annoyance. She couldn't concentrate for a single moment.

Even the death of her father poured into her memories. She mourned over it for many weeks. How come her father could not come to senses like her? She told him many times before that Thrall and his parties were honorable allies to the last of the humans.

But no, Daelin Proudmoore fell to the blades of the orcish Horde. Not by Thrall, but to Thrall's most trusted agents. A beastmaster(half ogre, half orc. Little is known about this race), a Shadow Hunter (a troll), and even the Tauren Cheiftan she first met in the Oracle's chambers.

Although his actions were huge mistakes and gave her newly formed town a bad name, she gave her father a warrior's funeral. She respected him, in every way possible. There was a time when he wasn't so mad. When he wasn't so suspicious.

When he was her real father.

But that time had passed. Now was the present. Her father was dead and no spell she could conjure would bring him back. She couldn't play God; she couldn't bring back all her brethren who had also fallen under her command at the battle of Mount Hyjal.

Just when she was about to burst from anger and despair, her wooden door slammed open and in stormed her lead paladin. He had a look of concern plastered on his face, and even more so in his green, aging eyes. "Sorry to keep you waiting, milady" he quickly postured his powerful body to a respectful kneel.

"No need, oh honorable Lightbringer" Jaina motioned him back to his feet. She stood up and walked around her table, picking up her book as if it fell from a bookshelf and was not thrown from her furious, nimble hands."Just tell me the reports so I can go to my chamber"

"What I bring, milady, isn't good news at all" he replied, standing up as she ordered. "I bring you news of concern from the other paladins and even myself!"

"Speak" she was suddenly interested and intrigued by the paladin's words. Something must have been bad if it worried even the rough-edged Tetrus.

"It has to do with one of the colleagues traveling the path to the Light…" he trailed off, rubbing his graying beard. "He is the son of one of most honorable men in this entire town! Yet this one has a slight hint of darkness. Remus's son—"

She cut him off, already realizing who the paladin was talking about. Remus Windwalker was famous about the town. The rumors were true; he had saved the life of Jaina in the battle of Mount Hyjal, and was one of Jaina's most trustful knights. She could hardly believe what the man before her said. "Feral Windwalker…"

"Yes, that is the one, milady!" the Paladin said it as if Feral was an undead beast. "I didn't see it at first, but now I can sense a growing darkness. The boy means no harm, but that can change at any moment!" he frowned; disappointed he was speaking these words. "The boy has the potential to be a paladin, don't doubt that! But he hasn't even mastered one power of the Light! Musn't that tell you anything, milady?" his eyes caught into Jaina's crystal ones.

"I would have sensed it by now, Tetrus Lightbringer" she turned to escape the gaze of the paladin. "There is no growing evil within this settlement, and I make sure of it!" she was growing more impatient and frustrated with all the matters that were put upon her. Everyday it was the same old thing.

"But-"

"The boy is not plagued, Tetrus!" she finally snapped, shocking even the Paladin. He knew her as a quiet, kind leader. He could tell she was in no mood to argue. She had a worst temper then that of a dragon. "I have run through the students' aura plenty of times when they were recruited, especially him! He is just as his father, noble and proud. I am sure he will become important just like him in his later life, but for now it might just be minor flaw. I had seen him flirting around with the local women of town. That might be the darkness you see within the young man. You and I both know that is natural to a human being's younger years."

The paladin said no more. He seemed to understand her point on the issue, and he did say it was only a minor hint of shadow. The fact that Feral had slept around was quite obvious, the lipstick always pressed against his body whenever he arrived late to training.

But despite his lust, Feral was a good warrior. He was noble, and he was gentle as ever. Jaina was right.

"No more questions, milady. The group is doing swell, and tomorrow the first one out to test the survival training is the dwarf Marcus Bonecrusher. After each week, a new student will be sent out, even if the last hadn't returned. Whoever makes it will be able to attempt the final test. Whoever doesn't—"

Jaina had read his thoughts. "Is either booted or worst….killed"

The fires rose high in the sky from the crumbling pieces of rock that were once standing towers. The smoke created a gigantic haze across the lands of Lorderon, blocking even the powerful rays of the sun. The sun didn't seem to shine down on these corrupted lands…

Screams of murder and pain pierced the air constantly without a moment's rest. The ground, a thick gray substance from the undead buildings, formed matter over the once green grass. The "blight" as it was called practically littered the whole continent.

The once tall and proud elven country, Quel'Thalas, was no better then that of Dalaran or Kirin Tor. It, too, fell to the countless numbers of the undead. No matter how hard the General Lieutenant elf Sylvanas Windrunner tried to defend her home town, it still came crashing down. She even deflected the plagued prince at every juncture possible that would normally stop any foe. But Arthas was different.

He wasn't going down too easily…

And finally he pressed through while slaughtering many of his once so called Allies. No one has kept record of how many he has killed, but many know not to stand in his path when he charged on his miraculously ugly dead horse. He swung a sword that would be too heavy to carry under a normal man. But to him it was like using a dagger.

And that blade commanded him. It gave him every evil thought he possessed on his quest. It told him to slaughter every foe that stood up to his might. After all, he was the new King.

And he was only taking what was rightfully his.

The battles raged for hours at a time. The elves put up a miraculous fight, at first amusing Arthas. But in the end, he found the battle useless and more annoying then a gnat. He finished it, destroying the very precious and magical Sunwell.

Arthas knew, as well as any other mortal that the elven Sunwell was what kept the elven race so powerful. The wells supported the elves magic, feeding their every desire to conquer a spell and use it against the enemies of the Alliance.

But that too, was gone. Just like the whole elven race.

Except one group who constantly fought to see another day. They became nomads, scouring everything they could from the razed towns and then hiding in the caves and waiting for a chance to get in the clearing safely. However, this didn't mean they didn't encounter the fiendish abominations and grueling ghouls. Somehow, someway, those bastards seemed to follow the band of elves wherever they went.

Kayto Valcrin, leader of the last group, held his hands by the warm glow of the fire. He was in the center of a razed town, too demolished to recognize which one it was. His thick black eyebrows arched in concentration as he lost train of thought. His dark pupils stared into the dancing fires before him. He was clad in a gray tunic silk shirt with brown elven clothed pants. He also had a pair of brown leather boots that came right up at the top of his knees. His face was hidden from view by the hood of a black cloak, which was tattered and well worn. His eyes illuminated by the bright light of the fire.

His lips were curved downwards in a grim manor. He was thinking about his next moves. One false step and his army and even he himself would be slaughtered. He had to think, but thinking only made his head swim. The scourge was running rampant, soon there would be no where to run.

The only option that would be left is to fight.

And it wouldn't be a fight at all. It would only lead to suicide.

And where was his prince, his best friend Kael? Surely he couldn't have fallen. He has searched everywhere in these corrupted lands for his comrade and he has not found any trace or even signs of death to his prince's where bouts. He was beginning to worry.

Even the pride-filled ambitious human leader Garithos was no where to be found. It has been several weeks since he has had a message from the hard headed human. Something wasn't right.

He used his slim hands and pulled back the hood of his cloak. His long, ruffled black hair was pulled up in a ponytail, the tail going as long as down to the bottom of his shoulder blades. His tired eyes hadn't left the fire.

By the looks of the length of his hair he hasn't had a good cut. He needed one. But he was too stressed to even think of the word "cut" except in the midst of a battle when people are falling to the hands of the dead.

His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten much. Under the silk shirt, his rib cage poked and shown from under his pale skin. He let his men have their fill, only taking short rations for himself. He believed his people needed to be in good shape. If it weren't for his army, not even the second in command would have made it.

He was the Prince's right hand man, and even his most trusted friend. The two never discussed an issue with anybody else unless the prince and Kayto talked first. They were the perfect team, always able to work with each other any under circumstance. They wouldn't backstab each other in the back, nor leave the other behind.

But by the looks of it, it seemed Kayto was left behind. By his most trusted friend.

No, it just doesn't make any sense.

But his thoughts were shattered when his captain came running down the streets, his armored boots clanging hard against the bricked road.

"Milord! Milord! The dead, they're--" his words were cut with his own gasp.

Kayto's eyes opened wide at what he saw when his trusted captain fell lifeless to the ground. A ghoul had shoved its dirty claws into the soft spot of the thick armor. It didn't take long for a puddle of blood to form under the human's body.

The ghoul cawed in glee. Suddenly, the ground began to shake and more of the undead popped out.

"TO ARMS!" Kayto's raspy voice sounded off in the air. Elves came running all about, some quickly falling out of confusion. Other drew their weapons and the sound of beastly claws hitting man-made shields began to give off. Kayto himself began to run through the spells in his mind.

A ghoul came sprinting at him, and without a moment's hesitation he screamed a few words in elven tongue and threw his palm at the beast. A fireball, the size of a human's head, darted towards the ghoul. It didn't have time to move, screeching loudly as it burnt into ashes. Kayto let out a sickening smile, the cruel death somewhat pleasuring the leader.

His eyes trailed up the road, a shadow forming over the light of the fire. Chains rattled, and a huge beast bellowed. The stomach of the beast was torn out, claws and other sharp objects protruding from its skin. Threads covered its body, what seemed to hold its limbs together. It even stitched its mouth together, which was a wide gaping hole that could swallow even his tall body. In one hand the monster held a huge sword, and the other was a giant hook. It stomped its way down towards Kayto's men, swatting them around like flies. Screams of pain filled the air as bodies flew all over town, crashing into half standing houses.

The beast eyed down Kayto, screeching and stomping it's way over, stepping on another elf.

"Looks like we won't be having a very long rest…" Kayto exclaimed, thinking of another spell.

_**Author's Note- This is an entirely new story I made way back then, and I find it sort of good, but I don't know where to lead it. Please R & R, tell me what you think of the characters and the storyline. Criticism is welcome. Thank you.**_


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